Lose My Dignity
by dontact-justbe
Summary: Rent/Glee AU crossover that follows the basic plot of Rent, but adds a few things to make it interesting. I do not own either Rent or Glee or any of the characters from such.
1. Chapter 1

**_Hey everyone! This is a Rent AU fic I'm writing as a fill for a prompt on the Glee Kink Meme. I've changed a few things, and as of now, the main roles are as follows: Roger = Blaine, Mark = Artie, Benny = Jesse, Collins = Rachel, Angel = Finn, Maureen = Brittany, Joanne = Santana, Mimi = Kurt. I will include a note at the beginning of each chapter with any new characters and their matching roles, to avoid confusion. _**

**_I truly hope you enjoy!_**

* * *

><p>Blaine sat in the frozen apartment, tuning his guitar in a futile attempt to distract himself and defrost his fingers.<p>

It wasn't working very well.

His mind kept fleeing. To last December. To Jeremiah. Jeremiah…._oh god._ Visions of the boy flashed through Blaine's mind. Their love, commitment, cute moments on the park benches, running away from drunk homophobes in the minutes following said cute moments, carelessness. _Carelessness._

In the end, that's what happened. Jeremiah had gotten drunk. Found some hard drugs and didn't practice safe needlework. It was once. _Once._

Blaine sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. The guitar was being difficult – but it gave Blaine something to think about. He was almost constantly tuning and untuning his guitar nowadays. Always tuning, never playing.

Artie sat across the room, looking out the window. A blanket was draped over his legs, gloves clothed his hands, and he was blowing warm air through the cracks of his fingers.

"I think there's another homeless fight down there," he said, craning his neck. "Oh shit, Finn's here. Looks like he's getting into the brawl." Artie wheeled himself across the room to fetch his camera. It was the only thing he owned that wasn't half broken – a present from his parents two Christmases ago when his other camera had broken.

He was beginning to wheel himself out to the balcony when the phone rang. Artie glanced at Blaine, who didn't flinch when the second ring sounded.

"Oh, don't bother. I'll get it," he said sarcastically, crossing to the phone and picking it up.

"Hello?"

"_Artie! Hey! It's Rachel! I'm back from Los Angeles. Wanted you and Blaine to know – I'm at a phone on Avenue B. Unlock the door for me? I'm on my way as soon as I hang up."_

"Rachel! Of course, I'll send Blaine to do that." He glanced at his roommate before lowering his voice. "He, uh…he still hasn't left the house….Yes he's still playing guitar…no, not really, just tuning…Yeah, hopefully. See you soon."

With that, Artie hung up the phone.

"Blaine. Go unlock the door for Rachel."

Blaine looked up at him, before sighing and gingerly placing the guitar on the table.

"Fine," he said huffily, exiting the apartment and going to unlock the back street door. "Not like it works all the time anyway." His comment was clipped and touchy, as if Artie was asking him to sail the seven seas in search of a specific grain of sand. Still, Artie could hear him descending the stairs slowly.

The phone rang again. Artie answered it once more, expecting Rachel again.

"Hey, he went to unlock the door. Come on up."

"_What?"_

It wasn't Rachel.

"Oh. Jesse. What do you want?"

"_Your rent is due. Overdue, actually. If you don't pay it I have to evict you."_

"You told us. You said it when you lived with us, how you'd never make us pay rent. You reiterated that fact when you married Sugar."

"_Rent is due. I'm coming to collect it as soon as I get this homeless situation under control. Is Brittany still doing that…protest…thing?"_

Oh. Brittany. Protest. Riiight.

"Yes she is. I think…I think it's coming along. I was her production manager, but…"

"_But…?"_

"She found my talents…not attuned to her liking."

"_You still dating her?"_

No. He wasn't. Here came the painful blow that happened in his chest every time he talked about it.

"No. She, uh…"

"_Found a new man?"_

"Not…necessarily."

"_What do you mean?"_

Lesbian.

"Her name's Santana."

Artie heard a fit of hysterical laughter on the other end of the line before he hung up.

* * *

><p>Rachel bustled up the busy city street. She was alone, and she knew it wasn't safe but she could <em>see<em> Blaine and Artie's building from here. She would make it, no big deal.

But then something hit her from behind, and everything faded to black.

When she awoke, Rachel found herself on the ground in a dirty alleyway close to where she fell. Her head hurt, as if someone had sliced into it. She brought her hand to the back of her head, feeling a sticky substance seeping into her hair. Bringing her hand around to her face, Rachel saw that it was blood.

Her coat was gone, leaving her in a skirt, t-shirt, and half ripped boots. It was New York City, it was December 24th, and it was freezing. Rachel coughed loudly, tasting blood in her mouth. _"Oh, great…"_ she thought to herself, trying to gain the strength to stand on her own.

There came a noise from the other side of the alley. Rachel turned her head to see a figure walking toward her. The person was freakishly tall, and a bit uncoordinated. He carried what looked like a bucket under his arm.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" The man looked concerned. Rachel looked into his face – it seemed genuinely kind and full of worry.

"I, um…I don't know." Rachel tried to sit up, before keeling over in pain. They must have kicked her ribs.

"They get any money?"

"No…I was pretty broke…They took my coat though. Only valuable thing I had. They probably went to pawn it or something." Rachel heaved a heavy sigh of frustration. She had loved that coat...

"Here. Let me take you back to my place."

"Wha…who are you?" Rachel asked, surprised and suspicious. It was never wise to trust strangers in the city. And this was a strange man…

"My name's Finn." He smiled and held out a hand to help Rachel stagger to her feet.

"Rachel." The girl held her stomach as she stood, wobbling, afraid of falling over.

"Pretty name." Finn smiled as he supported Rachel's weight with his own.

Rachel didn't know what possessed her to do it. Maybe it was because Finn was quite attractive. Maybe it was because the sincerity in his gentle tones and facial expressions could be matched to that of an angel.

For one reason or another, Rachel trusted Finn.

As they walked slowly down the alley, Finn spoke again.

"After we get you cleaned up, um, would you mind stopping at a life support meeting with me?"

Rachel gaped, wide-eyed, at him.

"Yeah…I do…I mean, I have AIDS. If that's what you were wondering," said Finn in quick response.

Rachel paused for a moment, then, "…me too."

* * *

><p>"Rachel should have been here by now." Artie wheeled his chair impatiently around the flat. "What if something happened."<p>

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Rachel is perfectly self-sufficient. Or have you forgotten that time she was almost mugged in central park?"

Artie remembered. It had been violent for the man. Rachel was small, but oh so fierce.

"Right. Well. Brittany called. Santana can't figure out the microphone hookups. And Brittany can't help herself because she barely knows what a microphone is." He wheeled over to the elevator – one of the more useful things Jesse had installed before he decided to give himself over to greed. "So I have to go help her. By the way, the power's out again – it went out right after Brittany's call. So light a candle or something. Get the stove running. It's freezing in here."

The boy stared at Blaine, who was once again tuning his guitar.

"Blaine, please come to the protest tonight. It would really mean a lot to Brit and you really need to get out of the house. It's been a year, Blaine. It's time to move on." With that, he was gone, leaving Blaine to his thoughts.

A year. Exactly a year, since…

* * *

><p>"<em>Blaine. Blaine I want you so bad." Hot. Red. Heat. Fuck. <em>

_They were both flying high. Jeremiah rocked on top of Blaine, pressing his erection into his leg. "Fuck. Blaine. Need you."_

_They were kissing. Their tongues collided, teeth meeting and mouths meshing with a force they might have cared about if the two of them weren't so intoxicated. _

_Blaine moaned into Jeremiah's mouth as he reached down to undo his pants. He pushed them off, along with his underwear, then began on the other boy's clothing. _

_Suddenly, the pair of them were naked. Jeremiah held Blaine's wrists tightly above his head as he slid their cocks together. It felt spectacular. Precum was already leaking from Blaine's aching cock as Jeremiah detached himself from Blaine's mouth to quickly prep him._

"_God, Blaine. So tight. Always so tight." He slid two fingers in and out, using his spit as lube. _

_Normally, Blaine would demand to be stretched more. Normally, they would have used normal lube and a condom. But not tonight. Tonight, nothing else mattered. Nothing but Blaine, Jeremiah, and the huge pleasure that would come when Jeremiah finally shoved his huge cock into Blaine's ass._

"_Jeremiah…J..just do it. I need you inside me. Now." Blaine panted._

_Jeremiah pulled his fingers out, and Blaine grunted at the loss before feeling something much bigger press at his entrance. Jeremiah spit plentifully on his cock and spread it around, slicking himself up, and moaning at the touch, before thrusting slowly deep into Blaine._

"_Uhhgn, so…tight…f..fuck." Jeremiah stilled himself for a moment, trying to regain composure before pulling out and thrusting back in until he had a moderate rhythm going._

"_Fuck. Harder. Faster. Jeremiah, please!" Blaine moaned._

"_Yeah, moan. Scream my name. Just like a whore. Mine. All mine." Jeremiah set himself at a punishing pace, pounding his cock hard and fast into Blaine. The bed shook from the violence of it._

"_Yes. YES. I'm gonna…uhhhh!" _

"_Come for me, Blaine."_

_Blaine erupted as Jeremiah thrust hard into his prostate. He clenched around Jeremiah's cock, which kept thrusting hard, in and out, through Blaine's orgasm._

_Three more thrusts and Jeremiah was stilling himself, spilling his cum deep inside Blaine._

_They stayed like that – wrapped inside each other – until the next morning._

* * *

><p><em>Then Jeremiah started acting funny. He seemed almost sick sometimes, though he hid it well. <em>

_December 24, 1988 was an evening Blaine would remember forever. He had come home from playing a gig with his band at a local venue – had stopped to get some smack on the way home. He was a little concerned, because Jeremiah hadn't shown up. Jeremiah never missed his shows._

_Blaine carried his guitar case into the flat and set it beside the door. He pulled the white powder packets from his back pocket and put them on the table. "Jeremiah? Hey? Are you here?" _

_The bathroom door was closed, but the light was on._

"_Jeremiah, are you…?" Blaine walked to the door, turned the knob, and pushed it open._

_He then screamed and fell to the ground._

_Jeremiah was lying in a puddle of blood._

_There was a note on the counter._

"_Dearest Blaine, I am so sorry I had to leave you this way._

_Believe me when I say, I didn't intend this to happen. _

_I got tested for HIV. The results came back today._

_They were positive. _

_I didn't want to die from disease. _

_I was a coward, Blaine._

_Don't be a coward. Fight it. Fight it all you can._

_Because I'm almost certain you'll be positive too…_

_I am so sorry."_

_Blaine held the note in his hand as he shook with loud sobs. Jeremiah was dead. He had AIDS. He was going to die too._

* * *

><p>Blaine felt a tear slip down his face at the memory. After Jeremiah's funeral, Rachel had left for Los Angeles – presumably to avoid the problems in New York – Artie had shut himself out emotionally, filming everything he came into contact with instead of connecting with it. Blaine assumed that's why Brittany had broken up with him.<p>

And Blaine? Blaine had become a hermit in his apartment.

Just him and his guitar.

And no song ideas.

It was like this on a nightly basis. Blaine would tune his guitar for three hours, then play endless chords, trying to find the right melody for the perfect song. It never came.

_I'm writing one great song before I…_

A knock on the door tore Blaine from his thoughts. Maybe Rachel was finally here. Blaine got up, sat his guitar down, and went to let her in.

It wasn't Rachel at the door.

When Blaine opened it, he stood in the wooden doorframe and stared.

In front of him was the most gorgeous boy he had ever seen in his life. Perfectly styled hair, piercing blue eyes. Oh _god_ they looked so much like Jeremiah's eyes…

"Staring at something?" The boy spoke in a gentle voice that could have melted wax by itself. It was the most beautiful sound Blaine had ever heard.

"I…uh…no. No…um…did you need something?"

Kurt took this as an invitation to come inside, and he pushed past Blaine into the apartment. He took in the poster-laden walls, thick extension cord, and trashed wood stove.

"Classy. Quaint." Blaine thought he heard a bit of a grimace in the boy's words.

"Um…excuse me, but what do you want?" The boy was shivering. Was he cold or…?

"Oh. Right." The boy held out his right hand. In his palm sat a tiny candle. "Do you have any matches? The power's out again and I can't see a goddamned thing in my own apartment. Plus it's cold as Jack Frost's heart."

Blaine stared for a moment, captivated once again by those perfect eyes.

"What _are_ you staring at?"

Blaine shook himself out of the trance without response before opening a drawer to his right and producing a pack of matches.

"Here." He lit the candle and jumped back as the unused wick sparked at the sudden introduction to flame. "So, uh…that's all you needed?"

Kurt gave Blaine a once-over. "…yes." His response was drawn out, as if to say,_ "not bad."_

He stepped closer to Blaine, just enough to be suggestive, before turning on his heel and swaying his hips as he made his way toward the door.

He left the apartment, sending a fleeting glace backwards at Blaine before closing the door behind him. Blaine stood flabbergasted for a moment before reaching once more for his guitar.

_Knock, knock, knock._

"Fuck," Blaine said as he went to open the door a second time.

It was the boy once more.

"It blew out?"

"No…I think I dropped my stash…" Kurt's eyes were scanning the ground.

Blaine felt a pang in his heart. After the Jeremiah incident, he'd withdrawn himself from using any substance more harmful than a cigarette and a beer.

Kurt made his way further into the apartment. "Here. Hold this." He handed his candle to Blaine as he dropped to the ground. Blaine stared again. This boy's figure was quite lovely…

"Staring again, I see? What is your problem?" Kurt seemed a bit flustered as he looked for the small plastic bag.

"Oh…no it's just, you…remind me of someone…"

"Who?"

"Not important…"

"Whatever you say…but you're still staring at my ass."

"I…"

"That's okay. They say I have the best ass below fourteenth street." The boy turned his head and grinned. He was kneeling on the ground in an animal-like stance. He _did _have an amazing ass. It was covered in sinfully tight pants, leaving nearly nothing to the imagination. Blaine let his eyes linger a little more until the boy noticed again, sending a flirty eye roll in his direction.

Blaine spotted a packet of white powder near the doorway. He waited until the boy was crawling in the opposite direction, and snatched the packet from the floor.

"What's that?" The boy had just been turning around as Blaine was shoving the bag into his pocket.

"Wh…oh…nothing. It's nothing." He blushed.

"Well. I don't see it. I must have dropped it in the hallway…" the boy crossed back to Blaine. "Would you mind re-lighting my candle?" He was standing obnoxiously close to Blaine now. "And by light my candle, I mean…" He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Blaine's. He reached his hands around to grope Blaine's ass and pull him close. Blaine could feel a familiar arousal spring up in his stomach.

"Whoa…whoa, what are you doing?" Blaine said confrontationally as he pushed the boy away.

"Getting my smack back." He winked as he skipped happily to the door and turned. "I'm Kurt, by the way."

"Blaine."

And Kurt was shutting the door and skipping away.

"Wait! You forgot your…" But Kurt was gone. "…candle."

Blaine stood in the center of his flat, holding Kurt's candle. He had to admit. For the first time in a year, he was intrigued.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Here's part two. I know I'm not exactly following the Rent story to a T but it's easier this way rather than switching back and forth eight million times. I hope you enjoy this chapter, as I attempt to elaborate on some of the things mentioned in the musical, but never really explained.**_

_**I also hope Mr. Jonathan Larson is not rolling in his grave over the shittery I've put his show through. I am not worthy!**_

* * *

><p>Blaine's hand flew to his pocket. The tiny bag was gone – Kurt had gotten what he'd come back for.<p>

Why Blaine had tried to stop the boy from doing hard drugs was beyond him. If other people wanted to put themselves through hell, who was he to prevent them? There had been a time when Blaine was riding high all the time – he understood.

It was just…Kurt looked so young. He also seemed very familiar. Blaine wracked his brain for any trace of familiarity. Maybe they'd once passed each other on the street. Perhaps they'd crossed paths in the stairwell – though that was unlikely since Blaine hadn't been farther than the apartment door for a year…

And then it came to him. A memory of a stage, strobe lights, and loud music…

* * *

><p><em>It was November, and the air was just beginning to fade to a light chill. At eleven-thirty, the night was still young. Blaine and Jeremiah walked hand-in-hand toward their favorite club. It wasn't anything fancy – actually, it was a bit of a trash heap, if one were to judge it correctly. But the drinks were cheap and the boys were attractive, and both became more appealing as the night drew on.<em>

_Blaine stopped at the bar for two drinks – one for himself and one for Jeremiah. He approached the other boy, who had grabbed a seat near the rusty old stage. A new act was beginning. There was a metal structure in the center of the stage, with bars and loops placed strategically around. _

_It was for a BDSM scene. Not exactly Blaine's cup of punch, but that was what he had the beer and Jeremiah for. _

_The dancers entered the stage, their glittery makeup and cheap, revealing outfits shimmering in the colored lights, which began to flash to the beat of the tacky music. _

_Blaine almost laughed. _

_But then the boy – the main attraction walked to center stage, as the backup dancers surrounded him. This boy could __**really**__ shake it. His legs were excruciatingly long, and the curve of his ass came at just the right spot. His bare chest glittered as he was pulled from behind, up to the metal structure. One of the other boys produced a pair of handcuffs, which they then used to attach the boy to one of the structure's many bars. He hovered by his wrists, suspended several inches in the air, until his ankles were spread and tied up in a similar manner._

_Until now, the boy's eyes had been closed. Now, he opened them and scanned the audience. He lingered on Blaine's gaze. Those eyes. Those eyes were…gorgeous…_

_Blaine sat up straighter, suddenly more interested in what was going on. He paid attention to the way the boy trembled to the music as the others ran their hands along his slender body. _

_He could tell the boy __**loved**__ this. _

_The others were rotating the structure now, so that the boy's ass was facing the audience. A whip appeared and someone began playfully smacking the boy's ass with it. And what a perfect ass it was, Blaine thought as he stared, feeling a hardness start to grow in his pants._

"_Best ass below fourteenth street, I'd say," Jeremiah spoke up. "Besides yours, of course."_

* * *

><p>Blaine shuddered at the memory. He usually didn't allow memories to come back to him. He much preferred to sit, numb, guitar in hand, playing mindless chords. He cooked when Artie brought home food, and sometimes he cleaned. He slept far too often and spent entirely too much time drunk. He liked the feeling of being disconnected, but suddenly the exhilaration of <em>feeling<em> was rendering his mind helpless.

Why was tonight any different?

* * *

><p>Getting around the city wasn't difficult for Artie anymore. He knew the routes that worked best for him, and despite what it looked like, he could wheel his chair extremely fast if anyone ever tried to mug him. He, however, had been lucky so far.<p>

Coming up on Brittany's performance space, he took a deep breath. _"Okay Abrams. Get your shit together. Just go in there, fix the sound, get the hell out."_

He wheeled himself through the entryway and was met with a built-up stage covered in wires, televisions set up haphazardly in the background, and a very flustered woman filing through the mess.

"Um…hello?" He approached the edge of the stage and looked expectantly at the woman.

The woman, who he supposed was Santana, jumped. "Oh my god," she said, staring Artie up and down, a look of disdain on her face. "I told Brittany not to call you. I told her I could do it. I told her I'd hire an engineer."

Artie stared at the chaotic scene, his face turning pink. "Are you sure? Well then. I…I guess I'll just leave."

He began to turn his chair around.

"Wait."

Artie stopped abruptly.

"The engineer's three hours late and I can't let Brittany down, so I guess you're my only hope, wheels."

"It's Artie…"

"Whatever. Gets your crippled ass over here."

Artie rolled his eyes before sucking it up and helping. He made small talk with Santana as he worked, finding that the woman was not entirely pleasant. She had an affinity for insults, and must have made at least twelve chair jokes before Artie was finished.

"Does…does Brittany love you?" He hadn't meant to say it out loud.

Santana locked eyes with him. "What? Of course she does."

"Well…you might want to keep an eye on her. She…just, if she starts calling you Pookie, watch out."

With that, he turned and wheeled to the door.

"What if…she already does?"

Artie stopped. He turned his head and spoke, "that's the Tango Brittany for you."

* * *

><p>Blaine sat outside on the fire escape, thinking. If anyone had asked him, he would have denied that he was also crying. Jesse was still outside, dealing with the angry homeless group that was advertising Brittany's protest. It looked like he was about to give up. Blaine allowed irritation at his arrogance to course through his mind. How dare he? He was their friend, a year ago.<p>

A year ago.

Artie had arrived back a half hour ago. He'd looked questioningly at Blaine, who never went farther than the window. When met with a piercing glare from the other man, however, Artie knew this was not the time to question him and took his time polishing his camera lenses.

There was a knock on the door. Artie placed his camera lenses on the table and wheeled over to see who it was. He opened the door, only to be all but mauled by Rachel Berry.

"Artie! Artie I missed you!" Rachel ran into him and leaped into his lap. "...oh…ouch…" She clutched at her middle.

There was a man behind her. He stood, towering over the two of them, holding a bucket under his arm, and looking very confused.

"Hey…Rachel that's probably not a very good idea…" The man entered the apartment, ducking to fit his head under the door frame, and took her hand to help her up. "You don't want to start bleeding again, do you?"

"Bleeding?" Artie looked concerned.

"I…Well, I took so long getting here because some guys attacked me on the way here…I think they wanted money. I didn't have me so they took my coat. I…I blacked out. If Finn," she gestured to the tall man, "hadn't heard me in the alley I could have died."

Rachel smiled up at the man – Finn – and took his hand. "He's really sweet. Where's Blaine?"

Artie's eyes fluttered to the floor. "Fire escape."

"He still hasn't left the house?"

"He doesn't seem to want to. That's the farthest outside he's been since you left."

Rachel walked to the fire escape door, leaving Finn alone with Artie. "Hmm…" She pushed open the door, and there sat Blaine with his head resting on his knees.

"Hey, Blaine."

Blaine looked up. His face was blotchy and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Oh honey…" Rachel crouched beside him, worry etched on her face.

"Don't…" Blaine whispered. He took a deep breath and let it out to watch it leave his mouth, contrasting with the cold air around him, and then, "I'm glad you're back. I missed you." Forced smile. Rachel knew it was fake, but decided not to say anything.

"I missed you too. Come inside? I want to properly introduce you and Artie to someone."

Blaine followed her back into the apartment. He clutched his coat close as a gust of wind blew behind him. The pair shut the door behind them and Blaine locked it before turning to face the room.

"Blaine, this is Finn. He saved my life." Rachel smiled expectantly at Blaine, waiting for a reply.

"Hi Finn. I'm Blaine…thanks…for getting Rachel home safely." He outstretched his hand towards the taller man, who took it and shook politely.

"Well I couldn't just leave her bleeding in an alley." He looked at the girl, who stood quite a bit shorter than him, and put his arm around her shoulders. "By the way, she told me you guys are having a bit of a rough time with your…landlord? Friend? Well, anyway…" He brought the bucket from under his other arm and set it on the floor. From it, he produced several boxes of food, and a full bottle of wine. "I thought you guys could use some of this."

Artie and Blaine stared at the food as if Christmas had come a day early.

"Where'd you get the money for all this? No one who hangs around here has any…" Artie blinked.

"I drum on the corner of Avenue B. I scored big today. Nice lady in a limousine." Finn shrugged. "It's nothing. So why is this place so cold? And Rachel told me about some protest tonight?

Before Blaine or Artie could speak, Jesse St. James himself barged right in the door.

"Damn homeless…Hey boys. Rent. Let's go." He held out his hand expectantly.

Artie's eyes narrowed to slits. "We don't owe you a cent, St. James. You said yourself. When you bought the building. When you added the lift for my chair. When we were friends."

"Whatever, look, my investors want the money so pay up."

"Jesse we are goddamned broke, okay?" Blaine hadn't spoken with this much assertion in his voice since he'd lost his temper at Jeremiah's funeral. _(Look Rachel, I don't need your help, get the fuck off me!)_

The room was silent. Blaine was shaking. He didn't hold a very soft spot for "Saint Jesse" after what had happened. How he'd treated Jeremiah's death like a squashed bug, or spilled milk. His insensitivity made Blaine's blood boil. He hated Jesse. He hated Sugar, his wife. He hated Al Motta. He hated everyone in that whole damn family. He hated them because he felt that they played a large part in tearing his life away from him.

"Well. Find some way to pay up. Come on. Don't you want me to make that cyber art studio we talked about? Look if you pay your rent this time you can live here for half price. Anyway. You'll see. Or you'll pack. Your choice, really." He glared at Blaine before turning to the door. "Oh, and by the way. Get Brittany to cancel her protest. It's a bad image. Cops are on standby. My investors don't like it."

"You mean your father-in-law?"

"Don't, Blaine." Artie waved away Blaine's comment. "Just shut up. Shh."

"You'll see," Jesse said as he left down the stairs.

"Ugh I can't stand him!" Blaine kicked at the wall.

"Well…hey maybe you can calm down tonight…come to my Life Support meeting with me tonight. Rachel's going too." Finn nodded encouragingly, trying to be helpful. He just didn't understand.

"No…no…I…maybe later…"

Rachel nodded, understanding. "Artie? I know you don't have AIDs but…maybe you could film for your documentary? You are still making that, right?"

Of course he was still making it. He'd been filming for over a year and all he had was a bunch of clips of angry homeless men and women yelling at him. _"Artists have no place here."_

"Yeah. I'd love that. Would they be…?"

"Yes, of course. They're all really open about everything."

"That's amazing," Artie's tone held a hint of hopeful positivity. He grabbed his coat and camera and headed to the lift. "Blaine…could you maybe, at least consider coming to the protest later?" He said gently, turning to face his roommate. "It…it's been a year. You have to get out of the house sometime…"

Blaine nodded. Finn and Rachel left, saying they'd wait for Artie outside.

Artie sighed. "Remember your AZT."

* * *

><p>Kurt was feeling wild tonight. He laid the small bag on his kitchen table to save for later – possibly with someone else? Crossing to the bathroom, he examined himself in his cracked, full length mirror. It wasn't the most desirable viewing system, but it would do.<p>

Since he had just come from work, he wore pants that were perhaps a size too small that accented his slender legs and tight ass. High-heeled lace-up boots graced his feet and trailed halfway up his calves. On top, he wore a tight, blue metallic shirt underneath a leopard print coat.

"_I'd fuck me," _he thought to himself as he lit a cigarette. He strode to the window next to the fire escape and stared out at the frozen city.

Simply put, he was horny.

It had been so long since…the last time. He'd had enough of the scraggly bastards who took their pleasure in his curves from afar. He wanted something, someone, who was _real._

Of course, he'd never actually _fuck_ someone. Not unless…

He pushed the thought away. He wasn't going to let that word cross his mind. At best, he wanted a nice make out. Maybe a hand job. That wasn't too much to ask, was it?

Kurt opened the door to the fire escape and looked down the flight of stairs. Blaine was sitting outside, just below where he stood. He took the situation as a sign. This was his moment – Blaine was quite attractive.

"Well, fancy seeing you out here." Kurt's voice was thick with lust.

"Hi," Blaine forced. He stared at the ground, avoiding Kurt's eyes.

Walking down the stairs and sitting beside the other man, Kurt took Blaine's hand. "So…you got any plans for tonight?"

Blaine pulled his hand from Kurt's grasp.

"Yes." It wasn't a lie. He was actually considering going to the stupid protest.

"Liar." Kurt smirked. "Look at me." He tipped Blaine's chin up towards his face. "Take me out tonight. I know the best clubs. And I get in most anywhere around here for free." Wink. Blaine hated those winks. They were far too suggestive for their own good.

"Uh…"

"Please Blaine. Let yourself loose a bit!"

"Kurt…I…"

But before Blaine could finish his sentence, Kurt's lips were on his. Pressing, longing, _taking. _Soft, alluring. He slipped his tongue inside Blaine's mouth and for a split second Blaine was kissing him back before pushing away violently.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" He shouted. "Get the hell out of here. Just…go…come back another day or something. Any other day. Not tonight."

Kurt saw tears in the other man's eyes. "Blaine…"

"Just _go." _Blaine was shaking with rage at Kurt's intrusion.

"Fine. But there's no day but today, Blaine. You should learn that for yourself." He stomped up the fire escape stairs indignantly before slamming the door to his apartment behind him.

Blaine was crying more than he had been earlier. He hadn't let tears flow like this since Jeremiah's funeral. His chest burned with ache and he tried to pick up his guitar. Maybe raw emotion would help him write a song. But having the instrument in his lap felt all wrong. Blaine didn't know what was happening with his head.

He felt like smashing everything.

He felt like doing something rebellious.

He felt like living.

He felt all these things at once. It was overwhelming, after living in a numb guitar-induced coma for the past year. Amazing, how a simple kiss could do this…

It wasn't that Kurt wasn't attractive it was just…god…how could he let himself get into another relationship? Or any situation, for that matter, that might lead to sex? He couldn't risk it…Ruining someone else's life was not in his catalog.

But still…

"God fucking damnit."

Blaine kicked a chair, put his guitar in its case, examined his scruffy face in the grimy bathroom mirror, grabbed his coat, and exited the apartment.

Four flights of stairs and one door later, he found himself on a busy New York sidewalk for the first time since last December_._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hey everyone! I have been amazed at the amount of email notifications I've been getting about people favoriting this story and adding it to their alert list. Really, I'm happy people actually like it. I'm so sorry this took so long to be posted. I got caught up with finals and school and work and speech and debate and college application stuff. However, I'm on break now and I will post another chapter before I go back to school, I promise. Leave reviews!**_

* * *

><p>The New York air was frigid as Artie, Rachel, and Finn made their way to the community center down the street. Apparently, this was where Finn spent his Sunday evenings.<p>

When they arrived, Finn wheeled Artie in through the basement entrance, with Rachel following close behind. She looked at how the two spoke – it seemed they were becoming fast friends. She liked that. She didn't know how it was possible, but she felt herself growing attached to the man, despite only knowing him for a few hours.

"Here we are!" Finn said happily, approaching the doors to the center's gymnasium and pushing one side open, holding it for Artie and Rachel to enter first.

A circle of chairs sat in the center of the room, and a few people were scattered about. Finn strode up to the circle. "Hey, Will. Hey everyone. I hope you don't mind. I brought some friends." He gestured to Rachel and Artie.

"Not at all, Finn. Well, Rachel, Artie, meet everyone else." The man named Will gestured to the circle. "Everyone, introduce yourselves."

"Sam."

"Quinn."

"Tina."

"Mike."

"And I'm Will. Let's begin."

And so it went. Artie introduced himself as the only one without HIV. "Do you mind if I…?" He held up his camera. "I've been working on this documentary for a long time."

There were no objections to his filming. Perhaps they figured his filming them would allow their lives to continue after it was over. After the pain ended. Some of them – Quinn in particular – carried a deadened look in their eyes. It was as if they'd given up. Artie set up his camera and tripod as the meeting took full force.

"Sam, we'll begin with you." Will held a kind concern in his face. It was almost like if you spilled all your secrets to him, everything would be okay.

"I…my T-cells are low…and I'm a little depressed…a little afraid, I guess…"

"But, Sam, how do you feel _today?_"

Sam looked slightly confused. "Why…what?"

"How do you feel today?" Will repeated.

"Well, I…" Sam considered for a moment. "Honestly? Best I've felt all year."

"Then why choose fear?"

Sam chuckled. "Will, I am a New Yorker, born and raised. Fear is my life."

The rest of the group laughed and nodded in agreement.

"Look, reason says I should have died about three years ago. And…I guess I'm just thankful for every day I'm alive…" Sam grinned, slightly.

"As you should be." Will nodded and patted Sam's shoulder comfortingly.

A half hour later, Artie packed up his tripod. The meeting had been an eye-opening and beautiful experience. All the speeches about dignity, living for today, and being in the moment made him wish he could be as brave as each and every other person in the room.

Artie kept his camera close at hand, sitting in his lap as Finn wheeled him out of the community center. "I think I want to start filming things all the time again. See where it gets me, you know?" He glanced at Rachel and Finn for approval.

Rachel nodded. "You're really talented, Artie. And you never know what kind of footage you'll get!"

Artie turned on his camera and stared through the lens. They were approaching one of the small homeless dwellings, and Artie took the opportunity to zoom in on one woman in particular, sleeping on a pile of blankets and shivering. It would be an artistic statement, once he had all of the footage edited together.

It would have been perfect, too, if the woman hadn't chosen that very moment to wake up.

"Whoa! Oh _hell_ to the no! Who the fuck do you think you are? Filming me like that?" The woman got up and towered intimidatingly over Artie. "I don't need your goddamned help! My life's not a piece of art ya'll can slap your name on and make a quick buck! Not Mercedes Jones, nuh-uh! Now get the fuck outta my face!"

Finn threw up his hands in gentle surrender. "Whoa, hey he's just trying to…"

"Use me for sick profit! I said get out!"

She all but screamed the final word, and Artie managed to wheel his chair out of Finn's grasp. He'd made it halfway down the block before Finn and Rachel caught up.

"You know, I think I'll just…see you guys at the protest. I should probably go and make sure that…_Santana_…woman hasn't messed everything up too bad." The other two nodded, understanding, and let him leave.

"That was really noble of you, Finn…trying to make that woman calm down. She's a bit of a lost cause though…" Rachel glanced at Finn, who took her hand and turned her to face him.

"It was nothing." He smiled. "Well, alone at last."

Rachel laughed. "What?"

"Look, I know I've only known you for a few hours, but I feel like you already know me better than everyone else does." He took her hand.

Rachel blinked. She didn't know what to say, so she smiled. Finn took the silent opportunity to lean down and kiss her softly on the lips. "I want to give you a thousand sweet kisses." Rachel blushed. "But we'll start with a new coat. Come on." Finn set off, pulling Rachel along by the hand. "I know a seller!"

* * *

><p>Kurt stood alone on the fire escape. He'd gone on a little date with his drug of choice and he was flying high. Wondering where Blaine had gone, Kurt ran his hand through his hair, making it just messy enough to look effortless but still attractive. The "I just fucked long and hard" hairstyle.<p>

Of course, Kurt hadn't had proper sex in a long time. Not since he'd been diagnosed with HIV. No, the boy had made sure to be extremely careful since then. But that didn't mean blowjobs through condoms, hand jobs, and frotting was out of the question.

He wasn't sure why Blaine had gotten so upset. They were both sexy as hell, and as far as Kurt knew, Blaine didn't get out much.

He was determined to get to the bottom of this.

…After he restocked his smack.

* * *

><p>Blaine kicked a broken beer bottle down the street. He didn't know where he was walking, exactly. Perhaps he was subconsciously trying to remember the city.<p>

He felt bad for yelling at Kurt the way he had. Kurt was…beautiful. Which was exactly why he couldn't get involved with him.

Blaine would never condemn anyone to the same life he led. A life ruled by safety of the home and AZT. A life where he couldn't ever be _close _to anyone – not really. Blaine refused to allow himself to get as careless as he had that fateful night a year ago.

The air in front of Blaine's face was visible as he breathed out. "Oh, fuck it." He stopped and turned, walking with purpose now. "I'm gonna go to the damn protest."

* * *

><p>The protest was being held in a performance space not far from Blaine and Artie's apartment. Across the street were a few vendors – reselling mostly stolen goods. At the corner stood a few prostitutes and a dealer, conspicuously trying to make their money passes as unnoticeable as possible.<p>

Artie saw all of this as he wheeled up to the entrance of the performance space. He also saw Blaine, walking down the street like he'd been there just yesterday. He did a double-take. This was unexpected.

"Blaine!" Artie called over the noise of the street. Blaine looked up and half grinned.

"Hey…" He looked sheepishly at the ground. "I…I couldn't stay there…anymore."

Artie looked at him, seeing something more to the story. "Okay, come over here, tell me what's going on." He gestured to a space beside the wall and wheeled over, Blaine following behind him. "Talk."

Blaine sighed. "Fine. Okay. The kid from upstairs – Kurt – he's been coming on very strong and…I just don't know."

"Isn't he that dancer from that club you used to go to?" Artie leaned forward, interested.

"Yes. And he's…I have to admit, he's the most gorgeous boy I have ever seen in my life. He's confident and sultry and good god, I know he's got some skills…" Blaine had a hungry look in his eyes, masked with pain but still there.

"So then what happened?"

"He all but mauled me on our fire escape."

"But, if he's as attractive as you think he is, then why don't you go for it?"

"But Artie that's just it! I can't! I can't give in to my…temptations anymore. I won't do that to someone." Blaine stared at the ground again, his speech fading at the end of his sentence. He stroked the back of his head, thinking, seemingly ashamed of himself.

Artie placed a hand on Blaine's knee. "Blaine, look at me." The other man looked into Artie's face. "You have to move on. I know you think there isn't any way you can, but there is. Rachel's done it. You can too. You deserve to be happy, Blaine. Come on."

Blaine shrugged. "Whatever." He obviously didn't want to stretch the subject. Perhaps this conversation was a bit too much to start with, so Artie dropped it. "So, let's just get this protest thing over with." Blaine turned.

Blaine froze.

Kurt was standing on the corner less than ten feet away.

"Blaine, what's – oh.." Artie caught sight of the other boy.

"That's…that's him." Blaine stood rooted to the spot for a moment, and then he was being pushed forward by Artie.

"Blaine, go."

Blaine scowled, before catching Kurt's eyes. He quickly wiped his face free of anger and staggered toward Kurt.

"Uh…hey," said Blaine nervously.

Kurt was looking for someone. "Hey." He was distracted. The only thing swirling in his mind was _"smack, smack, smack I need my heroin heroine. Come on Puckerman get your ass down here."_ He rubbed his hands together as he shivered. Whether it was from the cold or the need, Blaine didn't know.

Blaine continued anyway. He made Kurt face him by gently grabbing his shoulders and turning his body. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry for the way I blew up." He said this apology very fast.

"Forget it. No harm done." Kurt looked at Blaine, wishing he would just drop it and let him go.

A man approached Kurt from behind and whistled. Kurt turned "Puck. I was about to think you'd forgotten."

The man, Puck, spoke. "Nah. Just took matters a different route today."

A smile spread over Kurt's face. "Got it?"

Puck patted his pocket. "I'm cool. Dough?"

As Kurt reached for the money in his pocket Blaine took hold of his arm. "Kurt. Think about what you're doing." Kurt stared up at Blaine.

"What?"

"I used to want to feel good, just like you but…hey, would you go to dinner with me?"

Blaine knew it sounded stupid the moment he said it.

Kurt blinked. He took a step in, pressing himself impossibly close to Blaine, who shuddered. Kurt leaned down and whispered in Blaine's ear, his lips brushing the lobe. "I'm in the middle of a drug deal, and you want me to go to _dinner_ with you?" He nipped playfully at Blaine's ear before stepping back. "Fine."

The man didn't seem to like the prospect of losing a customer. "Hey lover boy, you steal my client, you _die._" Rage was painted on his face, and he looked extremely serious.

Blaine recognized the voice. The anger. _Of course._

* * *

><p><em>Blaine stood on the corner of Avenues A and B. He shivered from withdrawal, his eyes clouded over and bloodshot. <em>

_A man approached him from the shadows. _

"_You never stay away for long, do you buddy?"_

_Blaine ignored the statement. "Got it?"_

_Puckerman smirked. "I'm cool." He reached inside his coat and removed a small plastic bag filled with Blaine's magic powder. They did a quick exchange, and Blaine set off back to the flat, holding his white gold mine in his pocket to share with Jeremiah all night long._

* * *

><p>"Puckerman, you didn't miss me. You won't miss him. You'll always have customers, just go down the alleys in the middle of the night."<p>

Blaine took Kurt's hand and led him away.

Kurt turned slightly and mouthed to Puckerman, _"wait for me later."_

The man nodded and turned away.

* * *

><p>Finn led Rachel to the coat vendor across the street from the performance space. When Rachel realized where they were, she had used a bunch of large words but the only one Finn could remember was, "ironic."<p>

They passed a group of homeless people holding buckets.

"Honest living, man!" A passing car screeched. "Feliz Navidad."

Finn slipped a $20 bill into the nearest bucket as he walked by. He led Rachel to a shabby rack of coats guarded by an intimidating man.

"Pick out a coat you like."

Rachel's eyes widened. "But Finn, all of these are overpriced! I couldn't –"

Finn placed a finger to Rachel's lips. "Shhh. It's Christmas."

"I do not deserve you." Rachel smiled before turning back to the rack. "Hey! This is my coat!" She pulled out a long, brown, fur coat.

Five minutes later, Finn had brought the price down to ten dollars.

"How did you do that?" Rachel was amazed. "I can't even do that and I act for a living!"

Finn chuckled. "Practice." And then, "wait, you're an actress?"

Rachel sighed softly. "Yes, but I can't seem to get a job…everyone says I don't have 'the look.'" She rolled her eyes. "I went to Los Angeles to try film but no one would hire me there either."

"They're nuts." Finn caressed her cheek. "You're beautiful, and I'm sure you're talented."

Rachel blushed. "Thank you for buying my coat."

* * *

><p>The protest was surprisingly well-attended. Santana scoped the audience, and turned to face Brittany, who was breathing heavily behind a divider that separated the crowd from the makeshift backstage area.<p>

"You're going to be fine, darling." Santana stared lovingly at her girlfriend, who looked slightly green. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Brittany looked up and met Santana's eyes. "I'm not persuasive enough. I'm like the gum wrapper people step on. I don't have smart things to say. And I'm going to puke."

Santana walked closer to Brittany and took her hand. "No. You have wonderful things to say. People will listen because you are one of the most unique people in New York City. And you will not throw up." She stroked Brittany's hair and pulled her in for a kiss. "Now go tell those bitches who's right."

Everyone congregated in the performance space, in front of the set-up stage and carefully avoiding the wires strewn about the place. Artie wheeled up to the front so he could see, followed by Blaine, who was clutching Kurt's hand. He glanced at them, smirking, and caught Blaine's eye for a moment. His roommate gave him a quick, _'Oh shut the fuck up,' _look, and Artie laughed a bit.

Finn and Rachel walked in together, Rachel sporting her new coat and smiling like Christmas had come early.

They all watched together in the front, several people getting annoyed by Finn's height and stepping to the side so they could see.

The performance began five minutes late.

Brittany took the stage, and Artie could see her glance back at Santana, who gave her a wink and thumbs up. The blonde turned and breathed in deeply, staring at the floor, then looked up at her audience. She forced a confident aura around herself and approached the microphone.

"So, everyone has dreams, right?"

A few audience members nodded.

"I had a dream about a cow last night…"

And so it went. By the end of her performance, Brittany had most of the audience members mooing into her palms. She'd compared Jesse's way of running things to cows running dry of milk and nursery rhymes. It _was _Brittany, after all.

She was smiling, proud of her success, and Santana was rushing to the stage to congratulate her on a job well done.

But then the first punch was thrown.

Artie filmed it all.

It was like it was happening in slow motion.

Jesse St. James himself stepped into the crowd, and a homeless man decided to 'be the hero' and punch him in the jaw. Finn, Rachel, and Blaine ran to pull the two apart, and at the same moment five police officers were pushing their way in.

The situation turned into a full blown brawl.

When all was said and done, four homeless men and women were arrested.

* * *

><p>Brittany sat outside the performance space and cried. Santana was rubbing her back. "Hey, baby, pookie, it's okay. Hey, it's okay! Everyone loved it. You made a great point."<p>

"You really think so?"

"I know so. Now get up. We're meeting a bunch of people at the Life Café."


End file.
